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 The First-Born of Egypt'' 
 ^^The Dance of Death'' 
 
 BY 
 
 ROBERT BROWNING 
 
 THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 
 
 1913 
 
 ^11 rights reser'ved 
 
u 
 
 The First-Born of Egypt'' 
 ^^The Dance of Death'' 
 
 BY 
 
 ROBERT BROWNING 
 
 THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 
 
 yf// rights reserved 
 

 •, /^ 
 
 Copyright, 1913, 
 By the MACMILLAN COMPANY. 
 
 Set up and electrotyped. Published December, 1913. 
 
 DEC 24 I9i3 
 
 Norixjooli i^rfss 
 
 J. S. Gushing Co. — Berw ick & Smith Co, 
 
 Norwood, Mass., U.S.A. 
 
 ©CI.A:^60849 V 
 
THE DANCE OF DEATH 
 
 4182 
 
 THE FIRST-BORN OF EGYPT.i 
 
 That night came on in Egypt with a step 
 So calmly stealing in the gorgeous train 
 Of sunset glories flooding the pale clouds 
 With liquid gold, until at length the glow 
 Sank to its shadowy impulse and soft sleep 
 Bent o'er the world to curtain it from life — 
 Vitality was hushed beneath her wing — 
 Pomp sought his couch of purple — care- 
 worn grief 
 Flung slumber's mantle o'er him. At that 
 hour 
 10 He in whose brain the burning fever fiend 
 Held revelry — his hot cheek turn'd awhile 
 Upon the cooler pillow. In his cell 
 The captive wrapped him in his squalid 
 
 rags, 
 And sank amid his straw. Circean sleep ! 
 Bathed in thine opiate dew false hope 
 
 vacates 
 Her seat in the sick soul, leaving awhile 
 Her dreamy fond imaginings — pale fear 
 His wild misgivings, and the warm life- 
 springs 
 Flow in their wonted channels — and the 
 train — 
 20 The harpy train of care forsakes the heart. 
 Was it the passing sigh of the night wind 
 Or some lorn spirit's wail — that moaning 
 
 cry 
 That struck the ear ? 'tis hushed — no ! 
 
 it swells on 
 On — as the thunder peal when it essays 
 To wreck the summer sky — that fearful 
 
 shriek 
 Still it increases — 'tis the dolorous plaint, 
 The death cry of a nation — 
 
 It was a fearful thing — that hour of night. 
 I have seen many climes, but that dread 
 
 hour 
 30 Hath left its burning impress on my soul 
 Never to be erased. Not the loud crash 
 When the shuddering forest swings to the 
 
 red bolt 
 Or march of the fell earthquake when it 
 
 whelms 
 A city in its yawning gulf, could quell 
 That deep voice of despair. Pharaoh arose 
 Startled from slumber, and in anger sought 
 The reason of the mighty rushing throng 
 At that dark hour around the palace gates, 
 — And then he dashed his golden crown 
 
 away 
 40 And tore his hair in frenzy when he knew 
 That Egypt's heir was dead — from every 
 
 home. 
 The marbled mansion of regality 
 To the damp dungeon's walls — gay 
 
 pleasure's seat 
 And poverty's lone hut, that cry was heard 
 As guided by the Seraph's vengeful arm 
 The hand of death held on its withering 
 
 course. 
 Blighting the hopes of thousands. — 
 
 1 From the Ms. on the same sheet of paper 
 as the letter from Sarah Flower and in her 
 handwriting. 
 
 I sought the street to gaze upon the grief 
 Of congregated Egypt — there the slave 
 Stood by him late his master, for that hour 50 
 Made vain the world's distinctions — - for 
 
 could wealth 
 Or power arrest the woe ? — Some were 
 
 tnere 
 As sculptured marble from the quarry late 
 Of whom the foot first in the floating dance, 
 The glowing cheek hued with the deep'ning 
 
 flush 
 In the night revel — • told the young and 
 
 gay. 
 No kindly moisture dewed their stony eye, 
 Or damp'd their ghastly glare — for they 
 
 felt not : 
 The chain of torpor bound around the heart 
 Had stifled it for ever. Tears stole down 60 
 The furrow'd channels of those withered 
 
 cheeks 
 Whose fount had long been chill 'd, but 
 
 that night's term 
 Had loosed the springs — for 'twas a fearful 
 
 thing 
 To see a nation's hope so blasted. One 
 Press'd his dead child unto his heart — no 
 
 spot 
 Of livid plague was nigh — no purple cloud 
 Of scathing fever — and he struck his brow 
 To rouse himself from that wild phantasy 
 Deeming it but a vision of the night. 
 / marked one old man with his only son 70 
 Lifeless within his arms — his withered hand 
 Wandering o'er the features of his child 
 Bidding him [wake] from that long dreary 
 
 sleep, 
 A nd lead his old blind father from the crowd 
 To the green meadows — but he answer'd 
 
 not; 
 And then the terrible truth flash'd on his 
 
 brain. 
 And when the throng roU'd on some bade 
 
 him rise 
 And cling not so unto the dead one there. 
 Nor voice nor look made answer — he was 
 
 gone. 
 But one thought chain'd the powers of each 80 
 
 mind 
 Amid that night's felt horror — each one 
 
 owned 
 In silence the dread majesty — the might 
 Of Israel's God, whose red hand had 
 
 avenged 
 His servants' cause so fearfully — 
 
 THE DANCE OF DEATPI. 
 
 "And as they footed it around. 
 They sang their triumphs o'er mankind !" 
 
 dc Stael. 
 Fever. 
 
 Bow to me, bow to me ; 
 Follow me in mj^ burning breath, 
 Which brings as the simoom destruction 
 and death. 
 
THE DANCE OF DEATH 
 
 1S2 
 
 Mv spirit lives in the hectic glow 
 When I bid the life streams tainted flow 
 In the fervid sun's deep brooding beam 
 When seething vapours in volumes steam, 
 And they fall — the young, the gay — as 
 
 the flower 
 'Neath the fiery wind's destructive power. 
 This day I have gotten a noble prize — 
 There was one who saw the morning rise, 
 And watch'd fair Cynthia's golden streak 
 10 Kiss the misty mountain peak, 
 
 But I was there, and my pois'nous flood 
 Envenom'd the gush of the youth's warm 
 
 blood. 
 They hastily bore him to his bed, 
 But o'er him death his swart pennons 
 
 spread : 
 The skilled leech's art was vain. 
 Delirium revelled in each vein. 
 I mark'd each deathly change in him ; 
 I watch'd his lustrous eye grow dim, 
 The purple cloud on his deep swol'n brow, 
 20 The gathering death sweat's chilly flow, 
 The dull dense film obscure the eye. 
 Heard the last quick gasp and saw him die. 
 
 Pestilence. 
 
 My spirit has past on the lightning's wing 
 O'er city and land with its withering; 
 In the crowded street, in the flashing hall 
 My tramp has been heard : they are lonely 
 
 all. 
 A nation has swept at my summons away 
 As mists before the glare of day. 
 See how proudly reigns my hand 
 30 In the black'ning heaps on the surf-beat 
 
 strand 
 [Where] 1 the rank grass grows in deserted 
 
 streets 
 [Where] the terrified stranger no passer 
 
 meets 
 [ ] around the putrid air 
 
 [ ] lurid and red in Erinnys stare 
 
 Where silence reigns, where late swell'd the 
 
 lute, 
 Thrilhng lyre, mellifluous flute. 
 There if my prowess ye would know 
 Seek ye — and bow to your rival low. 
 
 Ague. 
 
 Bow to me, bow to me ; 
 My influence is in the freezing deeps 
 Where the icy power of torpor sleeps, 
 40 W^here the frigid waters flow 
 My marble chair is more below ; 
 When the Grecian brav'd the Hellespont's 
 
 flood 
 How did I curdle his fever'd blood. 
 And sent his love in tumescent wave 
 To meet with her lover an early grave. 
 When Hellas' victor sought the rush 
 
 1 Papers removed where sealed. 
 
 Of the river to lave in its cooling gush, 
 
 Did he not feel my iron clutch 
 
 When he fainted and sank at my algid 
 
 touch ? 
 These are the least of the trophies I 5° 
 
 claim — 
 Bow to me then, and own my fame. 
 
 Madness. 
 
 Hear ye not the gloomy yelling 
 
 Or the tide of anguish swelling, 
 
 Hear ye the clank of fetter and chain, 
 
 Hear ye the wild cry of grief and pain. 
 
 Followed by the shuddering laugh 
 
 As when fiends the life blood quaff ? 
 
 See ! see that band. 
 
 See how their bursting ej^eballs gleam. 
 
 As the tiger's when crouched in the jungle's 60 
 
 lair. 
 In India's sultry land. 
 Now they are seized in the rabies fell, 
 Hark ! 'tis a shriek as from fiends of hell ; 
 Now there is a plaining moan. 
 As the flow of the sullen river — 
 List ! there is a hollow groan. 
 Doth it not make e'en you to shiver ? 
 These are they struck of the barbs of my 
 
 quiver. 
 Slaves before my haughty throne. 
 Bow then, bow to me aione. 7° 
 
 Consumption. 
 
 'Tis for me, 'tis for me ; 
 
 Mine the prize of Death must be ; 
 
 My spirit is o'er the young and gay 
 
 As on snowy wreaths in the bright noonday. 
 
 They wear a melting and vermeille flush 
 
 E'en while I bid their pulses hush. 
 
 Tracing o'er their dying brow 
 
 With the passions of health's best roseate 
 
 glow 
 When the lover watches the full dark eye 
 Robed in tints of ianthine dye, 80 
 
 Beaming eloquent as to declare 
 The passions that deepen the glories there. 
 The frost in its tide of dazzling whiteness. 
 As Juno's brow of chrystal brightness, 
 Such as the Grecian's hand would give 
 When he bade the sculptured marble 
 
 "live," 
 The ruby suffusing the Hebe cheek. 
 The pulses that love and pleasure speak 
 Can his fond heart claim but another day. 
 And the loathsome worm on her form shall 90 
 
 prey. 
 She is scathed as the tender flower, 
 When mildews o'er its chalice lour. 
 Tell me not of her balmy breath. 
 Its tide shall be shut in the fold of death ; 
 Tell me not of her honied lip. 
 The reptile's fangs shall its fragrance sip. 
 Then will I say triumphantly 
 Bow to the deadliest — bow ta me ! 
 
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 
 
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